Poetry workshop wrap-up.

OK. He really is inspiring. Yesterday I went to a open seminar and a reading by Eamon Grennon as a way to wrap up this experience for me.
“poetry is an interplay between music and meaning…..between sentence and line….a dance…registering elemental presence in the ordinary…”
These were just some of what he tried to expalin in relation to his own writing.
elemental presence in the ordinary
Yes, that’s what his poetry achieves and that’s my goal as well.
He also spoke about the moment when the poem takes on a life of its own, begins to become something other than you started out with. That’s the point that I have a hard time getting to these days. It happens for me when I get into what I can only describe as a meditative state — drifting in deep and touching that “elemental presence.” Hasn’t happened for me in a while.
With a Irish lilt in his voice and a rhythmic movement of his shoulders, Grennon read his poetry into music. He talked a little about the background of each poem before he read it, adding his unique humanity and humor to the context of each.
What he said and what he writes resonate with the poet in me. I bitched and moaned about the writing exercises that he had us do, but I’m really glad that I hung in there. I just wish the timing had been better and I had more of myself to give to the process.
In between seminar and reading, I went out to dinner with five other poets, all but one who were in the Grennon workshop with me. Two are in the every-other-Tuesday night poetery group as well. Being in their presence — laughing, getting to know each other on a personal level, sharing stories — was amazingly energizing for me. Tonight is the Tuesday night group, and I’m definitely going….
…even though, while I was out last night, my mother experienced shortness of breath and didn’t eat the dinner I left for her. I think she’s having episodes with her heart, since she doesn’t want a pacemaker, since she doesn’t want to do anything to prolong her life.
And so it goes.

4 thoughts on “Poetry workshop wrap-up.

  1. Sorry to hear about your mom’s difficulties, Elaine. I’m thinking about you both.
    I love that, likening a poem to a dance, which is exactly what it is, isn’t it? You get into that meditative state, the poem takes on a life of its own, you are just the stenographer, and when you pull out, you look down and see: a whirling dervish or Maori ritual dance, the words beating out the time, the dusty rhythm kicked up by bare heels.

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